Down in the Great Hall, every young witch and wizard wore a different expression—but all of them shared one thought:
Someone had already earned a First-Class Order of Merlin at twelve years old… so why were they still losing hair over exams, homework, and worrying about future jobs?
The strongest reaction came from the Slytherin table. Ambition and glory ran in their veins—why else would the Sorting Hat drop them there?
A First-Class Order of Merlin.
Malfoy's eyes practically glowed as he stared at the gleaming medal pinned to Lucien's robes. He couldn't stop imagining what it would feel like if he were the one standing on that stage instead. The Malfoy name would shine brighter than ever.
As the heir to a pure-blood family, Malfoy understood perfectly just how precious that medal was. This wasn't like the ceremonial awards Ministers of Magic received when they stepped down, nor was it like the… generous donations certain Black ancestors once offered in exchange for recognition.
Lucien had earned this honor through real achievements.
At the next table, Harry leaned close to Ron and whispered:
"Ron… does this mean Lucien's going to be super famous in the wizarding world now?"
Ron nodded so hard his hair wobbled, then jerked his chin toward a spot down the Gryffindor table.
"Look there—Percy's about to turn green with envy."
Harry followed his gaze. Sure enough, Percy was staring at the head table with shining eyes and flushed cheeks. He was watching Lucien—and all the influential witches and wizards chatting with him.
Percy's ambitions were endless, and he desperately wanted to impress authority figures. Yet here was someone his younger brother's age already chatting casually with the biggest names in the magical world.
The absurdity of achievement so wildly detached from age shook more than a few students to their core.
Time passed, and the unforgettable award ceremony finally drew to a close.
…
Newt's suitcase world.
At the edge of what looked like an enormous water tank, Lucien stood with his wand raised. The wave-shaped water-element mark on his pinky glowed faintly blue—he'd just completed another "loan payment" after Christmas, raising the mark to the advanced level.
With his bond to water magic now even stronger, Lucien controlled a massive orb of water. Inside, a kelpie thrashed wildly, slamming into the water walls but unable to break free.
"Sorry to trouble you again," Newt said as he tapped his wand, causing the moisture in his clothes to gather and evaporate. "It's mating season for the kelpies. Their tempers are dreadful this time of year…"
Lucien guided his magic, the water-element mark splitting into threads of blue light. A stream of azure water shot from his wand tip, weaving into the water sphere like a tiny fish heading straight for the kelpie's mouth.
Once the creature swallowed the enchanted water, its rage slowly faded, its movements calming.
Very similar to thunderbirds, really—magic infused with elemental sigils could soothe kelpies just as well.
"No need to thank me," Lucien replied. "It was nothing."
He hesitated, then asked, "Mr. Scamander, during the ceremony… the guests seemed a bit… distant with Professor Dumbledore?"
Newt gave a tired smile.
"Likely because he's been going around trying to recruit someone for the Defense Against the Dark Arts position. I suspect every witch and wizard at the ceremony has already been approached by him. And with the rumors surrounding that job…"
Lucien's lips twitched.
Defense Against the Dark Arts at Hogwarts—the class that ate professors alive. Its reputation was terrifying. Those well-known figures weren't avoiding Dumbledore out of dislike—they were scared of the cursed position he kept trying to hand them.
"I actually recommended someone to him," Newt added. "But that person's… circumstances make him reluctant to accept."
Circumstances?
Lucien was about to ask when Newt turned the question back on him:
"Lucien, in your last letter you mentioned a 'great serpent.' What exactly did you mean?"